Free Hating Olivia: A Love Story by Mark Safranko Page B

to say.

15.
    “My mother has a nose for things, too. Whenever my father comes into the picture, she’s not far behind, even if we haven’t talked for a year. Don’t ask me how she does it. She doesn’t even know where I’m living.”
    Sure enough, not long after we saw Livy’s old man, the telephone rang and damned if it wasn’t the missus.
    Livy shrugged after hanging up. “Well, since we’re at it, you should probably make the queen’s acquaintance.”
    By now I knew that I had damaged goods on my hands—not that any of us on earth are in one piece. But it was as if Livy felt compelled to demonstrate to me the balancing end of the sick equation.
    The offices of T&C Realty were located on the second floor of a row of tony storefronts above the twin movie theater in the posh suburban village of Millburn. Mrs. Tanga had managed to extricate herself from her marriage and start up her own company, which had grown into one of the most successful in the county.
    It was a Thursday evening. Office hours were already over for the day. The anteroom was empty except for several heavy gray desks whose surfaces were covered with fat directories andmultiline telephone sets. Livy knocked on the door of the inner sanctum.
    “On the phone—I’ll be with you in a minute!”
    Her mother’s voice was brassy and hard. Stenciled on the door were the words “Clara Tanga, Licensed Realtor.” Translation: She was the big chief.
    From the other side of the door we heard fragments of the one-sided conversation, all delivered in a no-bullshit, imperious tone. A few minutes passed. Livy and I stood there gawking at each other.
    “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she whispered, though she didn’t go for the exit.
    “We came all this way. Why not stay?” After making the acquaintance of Enrico, I was more curious than ever.
    Moments later, there were a few hard, purposeful footsteps, then the door swung open.
    The figure that appeared was diminutive but strikingly attractive in her spiffy businesswoman’s suit and just-so bob haircut. Large emerald-green eyes were the dominant note in her finely chiseled face. Once upon a time this woman had been a beauty, and she wasn’t all that bad now—shit, I’d nail her in a heartbeat. The apple had certainly not fallen far from the tree.
    We shook hands. Clara offered us a pair of chairs. At once static electricity crackled between the females.
    The conversation was all about people they had in common, business acquaintances and such—no mention of the family whatsoever. All the while, Livy’s mother checked me out from the corner of her eye, very unobtrusively to be sure, but I caught her at it all right. With my beard and long hair, I couldn’t imagine that I’d be the Chamber of Commerce’s cup of tea.
    “So what is it you do again, Max?” she asked, all phony smiles.
    “Livy mentioned something, but it seems to have slipped my mind.”
    Musician, writer, etc. Big mistake.
    “I see…. Now I’m just curious, so I hope you don’t mind my asking— do you make any real money at something like that? “
    The question was like a hard slap in the face. It’s a bitch that most times you don’t catch on to the full intent of a remark until it’s just a little too late for an appropriately smart-assed reply.
    I yammered out something about millionaire rock stars and Nobel laureate novelists by way of self-justification, conveniently neglecting to mention my own nullity of income.
    The purpose of this exchange was for the business tycoon to gauge exactly what her daughter had in this new boyfriend of hers. Not much, she had to be thinking, though the congenial expression never left her lips. For all I knew, she approved. I glanced at Livy. Smoke was puffing out of her ears.
    “I’ll call you,” Mrs. Tanga nodded at her daughter. “We’ll get together for dinner sometime.”
    Uh-oh. Mother was going to offer daughter her opinion of me. What else could it mean?
    “Have you